


Words Written in the Sand

by flonkertons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 20:21:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10838736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flonkertons/pseuds/flonkertons
Summary: To the guards, she said, as calmly as possible despite how fast her heart was suddenly beating, "Don't let him open that door."Bellamy made a noise of protest, but she didn't stay any longer. If he wasn't going to talk to her, then fine. She wouldn't try.She was doing the right thing.Bellamy and Clarke disagree on staying in the bunker. 4x11 speculation.





	Words Written in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> I did not watch the episode and I don't really plan to! This happened because I love whenever Bellarke fight and I promised Caitlin I would try to write something about it. Based on the promo and stills for 4x11, even though I know this is definitely not going to happen.

Bellamy was mad. He wasn't saying it, but he didn't need to say it to for her to know. It was there in his movements (agitated), his answers (clipped), his glares (pointed), and it made Clarke tense to know that it was because of her.

But she _had_ to. There had been no thinking about it, deliberating about it, when she knew Bellamy had to be in the bunker, and there had been an equal lack of thought about the consequences of it. Whatever they were, she could deal with that later.

The way Bellamy was stomping around the bunker, though, it was clear the later was a lot sooner than she was prepared for.

"I'll be back," she muttered to Jaha, dropping her pen onto the map and steeling her shoulders as a precaution.

Jaha nodded, but added, "He'll understand eventually."

Clarke doubted that. "Right."

It didn't take long to find Bellamy. He was predictable, staring down the guards by the doors.

"Bellamy," she said wearily. He didn't answer, instead crossing his arms and redoubling his glaring. "Come on, let's talk."

"Got nothing to say." _To you_ , was the unspoken addition.

"I think you do."

"Let me out of here." He didn't even look at her, his words delivered more as a threat to the guards, even though they were meant for her. When she came closer, he turned even further away, and she stopped in her tracks.

Fine.

To the guards, she said, as calmly as possible despite how fast her heart was suddenly beating, "Don't let him open that door."

Bellamy made a noise of protest, but she didn't stay any longer. If he wasn't going to talk to her, then fine. She wouldn't try.

She was doing the right thing.

***

It was easier said than done, not talking to Bellamy. Having him nearby, even if he was a room or two away, made her even more aware of him. She wanted his opinion on this or that or she waited for him to disagree or she hoped that he would come up with a better plan. Her first instinct was to catch his eye and ask him what he thought, except he was so furious and tense it was rolling off him in waves and she was too stubborn to approach him again, so soon.

So she kept her distance, slumped in the armchair, fighting back the exhaustion that had seeped into her as soon as she sat down. Bellamy and Jaha were discussing rations, except Jaha was efficiently logical and Bellamy was looking for a fight. Largely, she tuned them out, knowing that nothing would get settled here. They'd fight, reach an impasse, and start all over again. Her thoughts drifted to the conclave, to her guilt at leaving the rest of them behind, to the choices she had made that led her here. It made her skin itch, thinking about it, and Clarke was almost relieved for the shouting that broke through her thoughts.

Bellamy, voice raised, pain evident, demanded, "You can't expect me to stay down here not knowing what happened to my sister!"

Clarke briefly spared Octavia a thought and pushed it away.

"I know this is hard—" Jaha began. Clarke winced.

"No, you don't. You have _no_ idea what it's like—"

"I know that we left people out there that deserved to be in here too, but we had no choice, Bellamy. We couldn't risk the survival of our people to a _bloodbath_ , not knowing if Octavia could or would win or if the Grounders would honor it, if she did."

It was the wrong thing to say. "She _would've_ won," Bellamy snarled, advancing closer, his fists tight. Clarke sprung up, rushing towards him. "She was fighting for us and just because —"

"We're _sorry_ ," Clarke interrupted, reaching for his arm and latching on. He became aware of her at that moment, staring down at her as she clutched him, torn between fury and desperation. He had tears in his eyes and she suddenly felt completely, completely awful. She'd done this to him because she needed him in here. She wanted him to survive, even if it meant leaving the others behind. "We had to do what was necessary. There was no _time_ to wait and see what happened, you have to see that, I know you understand that —"

"Clarke," he said, still. "My sister is out there. She could be dead right now and I wouldn't know because I'm _locked away_ because you made that choice for me!"

"I _had_ to. You and I, we're, we're in this together. You said it yourself. You said that —"

"I know what I said." She shut her mouth. To Jaha, he directed the entire force of his frustration. "I'm getting out of here and I'm going to find her. You have no choice in that."

"Bellamy, please," Clarke begged, tugging on his arm again.

"Clarke," he said, but it was softer, pleading. "Let me go."

"I _can't_." She choked on the words, but nonetheless, she let go of his arm. It took a second, but he started pacing around the room, his hand running through his hair as he did so.

Jaha took that moment to speak again. "Even if you make it out there, the radiation alone will kill you."

"I don't care."

"You're going to condemn the rest of us to —"

"I am opening that door," Bellamy cut in, eyes flashing. "If you want to stop me, you're gonna have to kill me."

Clarke's heart lurched and she spun around, letting out a strangled, "Bellamy!" as he brushed past. "Bellamy!"

***

She was going to _kill_ her mother. She had no right to go behind her back, to go talk to Bellamy and rope him into her stupid plan to get Kane. She hadn't even _thought_ that she was sending Bellamy to his death, and it was this that made her scramble away from the desk and barely spare Abby another glance before she was out the door, hurtling down the halls, turning corners and hopping stairs to get to Bellamy before he left.

"Bellamy!"

He was on the ladder, nearly slipping when she burst into the room.

Warily, he sighed. "Clarke. Just pretend you didn't see me."

"I can't do that. Bellamy, you can't go out there." Her eyes caught on his hands, bandaged in a slipshod manner. She could see the blood seeping through; the cloth barely even covered most of it. "What happened to your hands?"

He looked down briefly and made an attempt to hide the, as best as he could given that he was on a ladder. "It's nothing."

"It's _not_ nothing — you're bleeding, who did these bandages —"

"It was your mom and I'm _fine_. There was just a thing with the guards." The muscle in his jaw ticked. "There wouldn't have been a problem if you hadn't placed extra guards to follow me," he said.

"They were _hardly_ following you," she said uncomfortably. They were just supposed to keep an eye on him. "You didn't have to get yourself hurt."

"They weren't letting me out," he explained simply, like that would suddenly make her agree to his side.

" _Good_ ," she retorted. "Then they're doing their job."

Bellamy opened his mouth to say something and then clamped it shut. Whatever he was about to say, he seemed to shift course, though he was still forceful in his tone. "I meant what I said earlier. I'm opening this door. What are you going to do?" He was challenging her then, his gaze meeting hers with the familiar spark of defiance. He knew she wouldn't. He had known that she was going to come and that she was going to let him go. Her hand trembled as she stood still, mind running over all the possibilities, lingering over the idea that Bellamy might never come back. It terrified her.

It was enough to propel her into action, just as Bellamy took her silence as an indication she wouldn't do anything and started climbing. From the holster on her hip, she drew her gun and pointed it at him, aware that her hand wouldn't, couldn't stop shaking.

Panic in his voice, or maybe shock colored his words. "What are you doing?"

She came closer, but it only made her tremble more. "What I have to," she said, only just barely managing to sound assured. "Like always."

It was silent, with only the hum of the room filling the space. Then, Bellamy started climbing down, his eyes glued to hers the entire time he took him to cross from one side of the room to right in front of her. He took another step closer and pressed right up against the barrel of her gun, covering her hand with his before she could pull it back.

"Do it," he said, simply. Eyes wide, she inhaled sharply.

"Bellamy—"

"I told you if you don't want me to open that door, you have to kill me. You have a gun. Do it." It wasn't like him, not the words, not the impassivity on his face. He sounded resigned and she panicked.

"I'm not going to kill you!" Clarke nearly shrieked, releasing her grip on the gun and listening to it clatter to the floor. "The whole _point_ —"

His hand was still folded over hers and she grasped at it. "Bellamy, please, please listen to me. Don't you get it? This wasn't the best plan, but I did it to save you. I did it _for_ you —"

"I didn't need you to do that."

"There was no _time_ to —"

"It doesn't matter." He laughed a little bitterly. "You're always going to think you're right. But you're not right in this scenario."

"I'm just trying to _help_ —"

"If you want to help, let me go."

"I'm not okay sending you out there to die," Clarke said through a waver in her voice.

"I need to know what happened to Octavia." She understood that. Of course she did. Octavia was the most important person to him, but —

" _Please_ don't do this," she whispered, unable to stop the first tears from rolling down her cheeks. "I can't — I need you here," her voice broke, "Here, here with me."

Immediately, Bellamy looked pained, guilty. He tugged on her hand, just slightly, and Clarke couldn't help it, stepping closer until she could bury her face against his neck. He was warm, and sure, and _there_ and she didn't care that she was crying on him and sniffling and hiccupping. If he minded, he didn't say anything. Instead, he smoothed her hair down, rested his cheek against hers, and mumbled, "It's okay." It almost sounded believable coming from Bellamy's mouth.

"I could find out if she's okay," she said finally, after a few minutes. She said it into his neck, though, and he had to ask her to repeat it. Unfortunately, it meant she had to untangle herself from Bellamy, pulling back with a vague disappointment. "What if I find out if she's okay? And then we find a way to get her here?"

"No."

Clarke wanted just _one_ thing to go right for her. "I'm _trying_ here, Bellamy."

He fixed his eyes on her. "Are you?"

"Just because I'm not going to agree to you _dying_ doesn't mean I'm not trying!"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have kidnapped me and left my sister outside!"

There was a response on her tongue, a justification of why she had done that, why it made sense, and why he needed to see that it had been for his own good, but it all faded away as Bellamy's anger dropped and he looked back at her with the worst kind of acceptance. Clarke could deal with his anger; sometimes, she even looked forward to their disagreements. She liked that he never just agreed to agree with her; he was the only one who knew how to make her see a different side of things. But she hated that resignation, the way he was about to draw in on himself because he felt like he had failed.

Her whole reasoning fell apart after that. She had been selfish and she hadn't thought beyond that.

But she would still do it all over again.

"I'll go with you," she said quietly, staring at his poorly bandaged hands. She needed to fix them.

Surprise: "What?"

"I made the decision so I'll fix it too. If you want to go," she breathed, "I'll go with you."

"Clarke, I can't ask you to do that."

She smiled weakly. "You didn't ask me to. I'm volunteering."

He shook his head. "No. You have to stay in here."

"But you can go?"

"She's _my_ sister!"

"And I left her out there!"

"It's my responsibility to —"

"I was wrong, okay?" She interjected, before he went on another speech about how he needed to shoulder the burden for her. "I was only thinking about how you needed to be in here and I didn't want to take any chances over that, so I made a decision. Maybe it — it was bad and I'm _going with you_." Clarke pulled herself up to her full height, which wasn't much more than how she had already been standing, but it made her feel more emphatic.

It took forever for him to answer. "How come you get to have your way and I can't?" It was as much of a yes as she would get out of him.

"Because I was willing to shoot you?"

The corners of Bellamy's mouth quirked up, just slightly, almost unnoticeable if Clarke hadn't been paying attention. "No you weren't."

He was right, of course. "If you took another step…"

Bellamy snorted. "Sure, Clarke."

They shared a small, brief smile before falling back into silence. Her mind raced with everything else they would have to do — how they would have to find a group to take outside, how they would have to convince Jaha to let them outside, how they would find Octavia, what they would have to do if they didn't make it back inside — and it was hard not to be overwhelmed by it.

Maybe Bellamy saw it reflected on her face because he asked, "You okay?"

Managing a reassuring nod, she said, "Yeah. Just thinking."

"We have two days. That's… plenty of time." It almost sounded believable.

"Yeah," she said, for lack of anything else to say. She noticed his bandages again. "Let me fix these." Clarke lifted his left hand and grimaced at the poor work. "You didn't do these, right?"

"It was your mom, Clarke," he said, nearly amused.

She sighed in annoyance. "Come on," she said, leading him towards the couch a few feet away. "We'll think of a plan while I redo these."

Bellamy squeezed her fingers lightly. She squeezed back.

**Author's Note:**

> PS. writing canonverse STILL sucks because you have to actually account for all the shitty plots and glaring plot holes and character inconsistencies


End file.
